Sex Sessions: After The Cut (Camera Tales #2)

by Charisse Spiers

  "Oh yeah? Did you take Salem to a lot of concerts?"

  That name puts a bitter taste in my mouth, especially where something so pure sitting next to me is concerned in the same place, but I can tell by her tone she's just curious and carrying on conversation. I let Salem go long before she came along, but that doesn't mean I like talking about her; nonetheless, part of a strong relationship is open discussion, even about things that no longer matter.

  "Actually no. She was a bitch even on good days, and that form of entertainment was beneath her. Things that made her happy usually included drama or juicy gossip. She would often tell me about faculty dirt and secrets around the school no one should really know. It was annoying honestly. I guess that's why she was a journalism major. She only wanted to do uppity type stuff. She was really kind of a boring person. We weren't friends like you and me. Dating someone like her wasn't my greatest decision in life. We did not go together on any level. I see that with 20/20 vision now. It was usually just me and my roommate Joel and a few others that hung around a lot; our crew I guess."

  "That sounds so cool. I like doing this kind of stuff with you. It's fun."

  "So, I have to ask since you brought up the ex. What did this douche do for you if he never took you on dates?"

  She shrugs her shoulders. "It wasn't his fault really. He wasn't allowed to take me out. He had to come to my house to see me outside of school. My parents knew they could control a lot of things, but having a boyfriend wasn't one of them, so they found ways to still twist it into their fun little game. I can probably count on one hand the amount of times we actually did something away from parental supervision and it wasn't for an extended period of time. Maybe a ride home here and there after a ballgame or something of the like, and if you think my parents didn't calculate the time frame it took me to get from point A to point B then you're wrong. To be honest, I'm not sure what he did in his spare time when he wanted a normal teenage life, or why he even continued to date me. I'd be surprised if he didn't meet his needs elsewhere and just keep me around because I was a goody-goody, AKA what most would deem parental girlfriend material. Seems like I got wind of a rumor once, but it went quiet quick. I didn't really question it because I wasn't sleeping with him, so in a way I had no right. I had a sucky life."

  I turn on cue from the relaxed state I'm in as if someone just blindsided me and hit me in the fucking face, grabbing her chin in my thumb and index fingers, holding her face mirrored to mine. "No, Kambry. Holy fuck. No. Seriously? Cheating is never okay. Ever. Not even to be on the receiving end of it. Whether you're sleeping with someone or not, if you're in a relationship, you are bound under that invisible law of dating to be faithful unless you sever the contract between the two of you in a verbal agreement. Once you're married it becomes a damn sin to even lust after someone else, let alone act on it. My eyes and thoughts are for you only. When you are with someone, you have every right to question their actions or whereabouts. You can't get me on the phone and you want to know why, or where I've been, you better fucking ask me. I'm obligated to keep you informed. If any man or woman in a relationship of any kind has a problem with that then they should take a seat on the singles train, because that's where they belong. God, I could breathe fire. This is something I have zero tolerance for. Don't you dare ever take fault for someone being a pussy when it comes to being committed to his partner. Do you understand?"

  "It didn't really bother me . . ." I'm about to open my mouth again. "Because I didn't love him. I just didn't care, Sax. He was just filler in my story. If you did, though, I'd never be the same. My heart would stop beating and life for me would end. That I know for sure. Not loving him is what led me to you, in a way, because if I did I would have never left."

  That somersault effect in my stomach that most humans know begins as I consider that ending: her loving someone else. I can't ever let that happen. I need her like I need my fucking heart. Without her nothing would work the way it's supposed to and survival would be impossible. I relax. "Better for me I guess, but no man with any amount of raising or sense would cheat on you, Kambry. The day I even fathom sticking my dick in another woman is the day you need to just put a gun to my head and end my life, because that would only happen if my soul has been conquered by a dark source that doesn't need to exist. And if I had known you back then . . ."

  Her pupils dilate. "You would have . . ."

  "Been the boy your parents despised. I would have probably thrown all good sense out the window and you would have ended up pregnant by graduation. All it takes is the front seat of a pickup truck and ten minutes, five in which to remove your bottoms and the other five to come. That's long enough to explain to parents we had to stop for gas. You're the kind of girl that makes a teenage boy stupid."

  The words fell from my mouth without thought as to what I was actually saying. She laces my hand with hers. "But either way the ending would have been the same?"

  "Ass backwards? Yep. Either way I would have permanently made you mine."

  She smiles. "Then whatever middle there is I can deal with, two pink lines and all."

  I taste her smile. "One day I'm going to enjoy that view, but I'd rather us be trying for those two pink lines together in our own home instead of you finding out in a Wal-Mart bathroom because you couldn't do it at home. And maybe that’s why God knew what he was doing, because the two of us together is a form of crazy love that is not normal. First, you have so much more life to experience."

  She takes another sip of her beer when I do. The arena is full and the crowd is settling into the place they are supposed to be according to their tickets. "Hey, will you take a picture with me?"

  "Sure, baby."

  She pulls her phone out of her small purse and holds it out in front of us, the front camera turned on. "Okay on three. One . . . two . . . three." Before she snaps the photo I stick my tongue out to touch her cheek and make a goofy face, causing her to laugh as the photo captures and becomes a still image on the digital screen. When the screen is ready for another photo, she speaks looking at me through the camera lens, reflecting on the screen like a mirror. "I love you. Be serious."

  "I'll do it for a kiss."

  "You'll get the kiss after I get my photo."

  "Okay, okay." I smile like any good fiancé would do and she takes another photo. "One more. I didn't like that one."

  "What are you a girl?"

  "I think you know the answer to that question without me having to elaborate. Humor me."

  She preps for her position again, but on the three count I quickly pull her chin toward me and lock lips with her. She moans a little when my tongue slips between her lips, entangling for just a brief hello. "Put that in the scrap book beside the caption, I love you too."

  Her eyes are lazy, a smile set deep within her cheeks. "You're the best kind of high." She glances down and pulls up the camera roll just as the lights dim throughout the arena. I glance over. The shot stilled at the perfect time, the lighting just right to catch the pink blushing of her cheeks. That's my girl, completely wound up with the simplest things.

  Screams begin all around the arena as the sound of the big screens come to life, playing a video, initiating the start of what's to come: the band's introduction. Hands go into the air as asses leave their seats, index and pinky saluting only. We do the same. Her eyes are completely glued to the stage. I wrap my arm around her and pull her close. Her arm circles around my lower back and her hand grips onto my waist. "I hope I'm the only high you'll ever need," I say in a whisper as the band comes into spotlight on the stage, their voices sounding all throughout the arena with the first song, but she didn't hear me, as I intended, and her yells into the crowd confirm it.

  It doesn't take long and you'd never know she was a virgin rocker or concert newbie. Her head beats to the music, she loudly sings along to the lyrics within a minute at most into each song, and she's jumping up and down with the crowd, throwing screams and yells into the air at random. She's
gone wild, she's broken free from all restrictions, and I fucking love it.

  She finished her beer off with the start of Sweet Candy a couple songs back, and so I handed her what was left of mine. Normally, I would have finished it forever ago, but I'm enjoying the slow and steady. I don't need the altering state of mind watching her, and one is not enough to do the job anyway. She's a lightweight and I'd rather her have the full experience to take home.

  I stand here, hands in pockets, watching her body move in an exaggerated form, heightening with each guitar solo as she plays her imaginary guitar strapped to her front.

  She turns toward me and puts her arms around my neck, just before jumping onto my body like a bear a tree, latching her legs around my waist. Reflexively my hands pull from my pocket to grab onto her. "Hot blooded woman just waiting for me." She begins to sing—or scream rather—along to Rock The House as she stares into my eyes. The veins in her neck show how loud she’s trying to be. "Gonna kick up her heels, make you scream."

  Dear God. "Is that a request?"

  She leans into my neck, placing her lips at the base, then the tip of her warm tongue breaks through and she licks up the entire length until she pulls my earlobe between her teeth. "Making me scream is always welcome, Maverick. I'll even let you fuck me to this song."

  The little Devil horns accompanying her bold behavior in this sea of people are completely throwing me off my game. It's hot. And I'm hard. I loosen her grip at the ankles sitting at my lower back and slide her down to the appropriate height. I want her to feel every damn inch of the massive bulge I'm sporting between her legs that is now viewable for every person that steals a look at my crotch once she moves. "Don't make offers you aren't one hundred percent ready for, because this behavior is making me want to fuck you until you can't stand. Your body is small and my dick is big. I can find ways and positions to beautifully destroy your pussy."

  She deadpans me straight and center, completely hiding behind a poker face now in place. With the rock music continuing to invade our ears, she says, "Mutilate me."

  My jaw drops from the locked position it's in. And this is our life. It's fun as hell, it's dirty as shit, and it's completely fucking perfect. She completes me in every aspect of the word; even the most perverted parts. Match for match she competes and wins my heart over and over again. In a few days that girl is forever mine in front of God and bound to me by the law of the land.

  I'm as happy as a fuckboy in a room full of naked and horny women. So what do I do? I pull her back up my body and shove my face into the open mouth resting nicely on the most beautiful tits I've ever seen and burrow my face rapidly between them until I'm submerged deeply in the middle of boobs.

  Her laughter fills my ears and her back arches away from me. She fists my hair; pulling me out of the cozy boob cocoon I was in. "You totally just motor-boated me again, but this time in front of way too many people. What do you have to say for yourself, boy?"

  "I like that bra. It's non restrictive. What kind is it?"

  "Not what I mean, my sexy boob-crazed psycho."

  "Hey . . . I forewarned you. It's totally normal. Let it happen." I smirk. "Besides, I'm sure by this point people already know what those beautiful tits look like and those same people will completely understand my addiction to your breasts and the need to nurse said addiction by getting my daily fix. And no one gets to fucking touch them but me!"

  The last line came out a little too excited for a grown man that has seen more sets of tits and pussies than I care to admit. Nothing about female sex organs should amaze me or excite me for that matter, yet hers drive me damn near insane. "You're an overgrown child. I hope you know that."

  "In my defense, it's not completely my fault. You should not have been graced with the damn finest body possible and the equivalent in hearts to match. I'm not even going to get started on how beautiful you are, because you will never understand what you've got going on. The fact that you don't is just a plus for me. You're a damn lethal being. If your heart wasn't so pure I'd be worried you were created by the Devil himself. I ate from the apple long ago."

  "Dammit, I love you," she says, and her lips come crashing down on mine; every full, glossy, beer-flavored inch of them. She's kissing me with fight and perseverance, rubbing my lips raw in the process. She climbs my body a few inches between heats. It takes all of my center balance to avoid falling into the surrounding people, but I fight gravity just to stay like this for a little while longer, because I never want times like this to end.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kambry

  The sunlight peeking through the white curtains wakes me. I peek over at Saxton, but he doesn't move from the position he's lying in: stomach to the bed, hand on my boob, and the other under his pillow. It's a position that is pretty common when it comes to his sleeping now.

  I glance at the ceiling and shake my head. Maybe I should search the web to see if they have a boob model squeeze toy for stress. There has to be a perverted enough person to have thought of it by now. If I could find one, I would order him his own. I can picture it, and every time he panics and needs a cigarette he could just reach for his portable pocket boob if I'm not around and squeeze on it for a while.

  A small laugh escapes and I smother it with my hand. The amount of love I have for that goofy ass sex machine is not measurable. I'm pretty sure of it. I sigh in a contented whisper. My heart is so full on most days breathing is difficult.

  Slipping from his hold on me, I sneak out of the bed quietly, my bladder full, and grab my phone off the night stand once I'm out of the danger zone of waking him. I pull up the camera and snap a shot of his face and torso. It's hard not to. When you love a person as much as I love him, there is an extra special appreciation for them when they're sleeping: a person's most peaceful form.

  I tiptoe to the bathroom in the AC/DC tee shirt he bought me last night and slowly shut the door. After all that talk he didn't even give me any. Bullshit talking men, I swear. Just because I dozed off on the cab ride home doesn't mean I'm too tired for sex after the fact.

  And I was not drunk. I don't care what he says. Who the hell gets drunk off of one and a half beers? He just doesn't think I can hit the ball when he throws me sex-talkin'; when in reality a comfy shoulder is a booby trap for those of the conscious state of mind. No pun intended. It sucks you into dreamland faster than you can feel sleepy.

  I shuck my panties onto the floor and sit on the toilet. I want to expel a sound of relief as my bladder frees itself of the piss burden it carries, but I refrain due to the sleeping giant on the other side of that door that I don't want to wake yet, because no person just pees and gets off the pot when they first wake up. If they do then they're psycho monsters that are bred from another species and not human, because there is something relaxing about just sitting here and not having to do anything for a few moments in time once you wake up.

  I unlock my phone and pull up Tumblr. It's been a little while since I've been on, and apparently Saxton has posted twice since I have. I glance through all of the notifications first, and it doesn't go without notice that there are an over abundance of new followers in the last twenty-four hours. I glance at the number again: 745. How does that even happen? Something has to be screwy with the app.

  Regardless, I continue to the first post of the two new: bathtub sex in high speed. I watch, remembering that very moment as if no time had passed, but as usual, the hashtags and the post are what get my attention the most.

  #AintNothingLikeTheFirstTime #AsCloseOfAViewAsYoullGet #OneNightWonders #Remake #TheStartOfForever #WaterSloshin #PussyWorkin #DickSubmergin following #BedLovin and those are the #BestKindsOfNights . . . Or days. #SexSecrets #MakinMovies #LoveStories #PornStarRomance #XXX #Sex #ReservedMemories #TopSecret #RestrictedAccess #VIPonly #TheFuckingFeels #YoullNeverKnow #SexSessions #AfterTheCut #TheRealMVP goes to this girl right here. Kambry, you make my world go round. You're the only girl I see and I'm happy as fuck that you agreed to marry me. If y
ou're reading this, I love you, and get your naughty ass back to bed. For everyone else— hate none, love always, and pray to God you find a person like me. See ya on the flip side —Sax.

  Click here to view post.

  I read a few of the comments, blurry eyed, before moving to the next.

  MaryJane69: That's hot . . .

  Justin4Pussy: A girl like that and I possibly would leave the hoe life . . .

  Luke_JennyXXX: This is great. Love your posts. Naughty notes to come for you both. Reblogging.

  SinisterSlave: Can't turn a hoe into a housewife. How can you bring God into this filth? A relationship that starts with sex ends with sex. Cheater cheater pumpkin eater? I bet he's a few screws away from finding a replacement, sweetheart. No one wants a used model for long . . .

  "What the actual fuck?" A tear falls down my face. How can someone be so mean? Cruelty is not a skill I'm good at. Being on the receiving end hurts. What do I do? Do I reply back like Tynleigh? Do I ignore it? Do I block him? Or should I just delete this damn account altogether? "What is it with the damn rhymes and riddles with this guy? Why is he still on our page?"

  I hover over the post options. He obviously gets off on feedback and getting under my skin. Fuck it. I'm going to leave it right there. He's not going to hurt me. "Grow tough skin," I whisper, trying to make myself grasp onto the very words I need to believe.

  I move to the second post. It's the photo of the two of us kissing at the concert. The lighting looks softer, the photo covered in a vintage effect. He's done something to it, but it's beautiful. Our eyes are closed, my cheeks flushed, but even though it's our profiles showing and our lips are locked together, we both look . . . happy.

  My first ever #WCW and forever #WCE is this beautiful girl. The possibility to have everything you want is within your grasp. #NoSettlingRequired. The sky is the limit. You can have sex and love simultaneously. Monogamy is not a means to an end. One woman can do everything a list of females can and more. If anyone knows, it's me. #PornStars have #Sex but not #Love. At least not with dignity. The only option is to #MakeTheChoice between the two. I was lucky for once not to have to. Take the #Dare if you're #Bold enough. #FindYourPerson.